


In Death, Sacrifice

by Dalish_and_Dragons



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Dalish Origin, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-23 04:50:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14927451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dalish_and_Dragons/pseuds/Dalish_and_Dragons
Summary: In elvish, Ilaan means "of many sacrifices." After being infected with the darkspawn taint and forced to abandon her clan and protect the very ones she swore to oppose, Ilaan thinks she has braved the worst life could throw at her. But little does she know just how much of a sacrifice being a Grey Warden truly is.





	1. The Beginning of the End

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first fan fiction, and I sincerely hope you guys enjoy! I took some liberties with it so it will not be exactly like the Origins story, but it will follow the same format. Updates will be every two weeks or less. I am also working on a DA: Inquisition story that is much more in-depth at the moment, but is still a work in progress. Also, I do not own any of this content, as it is the sole property and original content of Bioware.

The Brecilian Forest was endless, she thought as she meandered her way with light steps through its towering and tranquil greenery, bow at the ready in her hands. She paused after crossing a quick, shallow stream, catching her breath while taking in the noises of the forest around her. Swallows flitted in the thick branches overhead, and leaves rustled in the early spring wind.  
It was a perfect day. Or it would have been, had her ears not twitched at the discordant sound of voices and the stench of sweat. Frightened sweat, prey sweat. She ducked low and glided through the underbrush and gnarled forest floor, bow taught and strong in her hands, eyes scanning the greenery.  
She spotted Tamlen first, bow and arrows at the ready, then she saw the shemlen. They appeared to be unarmed, wearing Ferelden colors of red and gold. Merchants she guessed, but no. Even merchants carried small daggers or finger knives. Servants perhaps, to some shem lord or other.  
She was at Tamlen’s side in an instant, bow pointing at the man in front of her, in a half-cowering position with his meaty hands raised to show he was unarmed. Her friend’s sharp green eyes flitted over to her for an instant, and he addressed her, though his arrow never strayed from the shem.  
“Took you long enough. These shem are trespassing, claiming they did not know. They are lying, of course.” The iciness in his voice betrayed his hatred of humans. Before the incident, he had always been curious about them. About their customs and ways of life, weapons and clothes, even their religion. But no longer,  
“We didn’t know, we swear! We were gathering wood is all, for Lord Harrowmon, and found a cave nearby, with piles of old stuff. We didn’t know there were any Dalish here!”  
Tamlen laughed, an ugly, acidic sound so different from his usual childlike disposition. “A likely tale, I’m sure. And where are your armed men, your templars? Are they hiding in the brush, waiting to ambush us? This cave is clearly a ruse, I know this forest, there is no such cave.” Ilaan knew what he was speaking of. She fought the urge to rub at the scar upon her throat, the long, permanently marred line of skin at the base of her throat. She knew Tamlen would never forgive the templars for what they did to their clan, to her. The cave on the other hand, she had to agree with Tamlen. She had never seen a cave in this forest. She moved close to him in an attempt to ground him.  
“Templars? There ain’t no templars here ser, they’re in the Circle of Magi, to watch the mages. Like Grant said, we was just getting wood for our master when we saw the cave.” The smaller man spoke, dusty brown hair poorly brushed and his teeth yellowed. Like his companion, he held up his hands for the elves to see.  
“I don’t believe you. I say you die, before you can harm us or our clan.” Both men blanched, the taller, larger one stammering for his life. Ilaan turned to her friend.  
“Tamlen, no. They are unarmed. We would be murderers, the Keeper would not allow this.”  
He turned to her, green eyes bright with hate. “Our people were unarmed when we were slaughtered by the shem, when they were driven from Halamshiral, when you were nearly murdered by the templar. You think they deserve mercy, Ilaan? They are the murders.”  
Ilaan lowered her bow, staring at her friend as his hands shook on his own weapon. She could feel the anger, the fear, emanating from him like ripples in a lake. But despite his lust for vengeance, she sensed his uncertainty as well, his innocence staying his arrows. She placed a hand on his arrow’s tip, lowering it.  
“Tamlen, we cannot hold these shem accountable for the past. Look at them- they are unarmed, clearly not templars or warriors or any other threat. If you kill them, you are the murderer.”  
Tamlen blanched, but pursed his lips, staring at the two men cowering from his bow. “And you think if we trespassed into shem land, they would not kill us in an instant?”  
Ilaan considered this. “Perhaps they would, but these men would not be the ones to do it. We are not like the shemlen, we are not thoughtless murders of unarmed men. We are Dalish. Show them what that means, Tamlen.”  
Her friend clenched his jaw, green eyes darting between the two mean, who had huddled closer together as though that would save them if he decided to loose his arrows. After a moment, he sighed.  
“Go, then. And do not return, or you and your fellow shemlen will be filled with more than just my arrows.”  
The two men backed up, smiling but clammy. “Thank you, ser elf! We will not return, not ever. And w-we have this from the cave, you can have it all you want. We ain’t ever returning to that cursed place.” The larger man fished something small and round from his pocket and rolled it across the grass to Tamlen. With this they turned and ran, watching their backs occasionally to ensure Tamlen would not shoot them as they fled.  
When they were gone, Tamlen swung his bow across his back and placed his arrow back in his quiver, and bent to retrieve the curious object from the cave lying at his feet. Ilaan moved closer to inspect it.  
It seemed to be a runestone of some kind, with an ancient elven sigil carved into it. Even from there, she could almost feel its pull, the aura of powerful magic around it. “We should take it to the Keeper or Merrill, they will know what it is.”  
But Tamlen shook his head, eyes sparkling, all signs of hatred replaced by his usual childlike curiosity. “Let’s explore the cave first, see what else we can find. Perhaps there are more tokens like this, maybe things we can even learn more about our history from. Besides, you know the Keeper would never let us go. We won’t get another chance like this, Ilaan.”  
Before she could reply Tamlen was off, climbing a steep hillside covered in ferns. Ilaan sighed and followed with a single glance over her shoulder; she could not allow Tamlen to go alone, but nor would she run to the Keeper like a child. They had their vallaslin now, they were adults. She readied an arrow on her bow.  
The cave did not exist before, of that they were certain. Or if it did, some ancient magic must have coaxed it from hiding amongst the deep roots and leaves of the Brecilian Forest. Perhaps the shemlen disturbed whatever power had slept here and woken it into palpable existence. Ilaan shivered to think of it. Tamlen and Ilaan had passed this spot many times since settling in the forest, and this cave had never been visible to anyone, if it existed at all. She recalled the tales Paivel had told them as children about the demons that stalked the night and ran with Fen’Harel in the night, about their terrible deeds and consequences to those who made deals with them. She shuddered.  
“Tamlen, we should not be here. It feels…wrong. It should not be disturbed.” Her friend turned and shook his head, familiar half-grin on his youthful face.  
“Always the cautious one. We’ll be fine lethallan. Besides, don’t you want to find some ancient relic like the ones Paivel told us about? Imagine Merrill’s face if we discover one, ha!” Ilaan thought about Merrill, the Keeper’s First, and her large green eyes as they took in the sight of the two young elves hauling back a statue or stone relic from the days of Arlathan, her sharp features and authoritative voice stammering with disbelief. She had to admit, it would be amusing. But she did not think it was worth risking their lives to whatever lurked in wait in the cave. Nevertheless, her own loyalty to Tamlen and curiosity for finding some part of their lost history drove her forward, deeper into the darkness and away from the forest’s light.  
“Look at this statue. It looks familiar, but I can’t read the scripture. What do you think?”  
Ilaan looked it over. It was tall and foreboding, and she did not like the way its empty eyes stared down at them, but it was familiar nonetheless. “Yes, it feels very familiar, but I can’t place it. It is strange. So much of the architecture looks human, but it is clearly related to the elvhenan. And there is something tied to it all, something…Tamlen, we should go back.” Her friend rolled his eyes.  
“Not this again, lethallan. We are already here, why not finish our search?”  
She opened her mouth to reply, but a shout came out instead. Tamlen followed her gaze and spun around, readying an arrow. He cursed and stood in front of Ilaan, who shot rapidly from behind him. Her arrows found the creature in its eyes and Tamlen’s in its bulky abdomen. When it was dead and unmoving, Tamlen laughed while Ilaan shuddered.  
“Of all creatures to find here, ha!” Ilaan glared at him and backed away even further from the giant, ugly creature with its eight legs curled in on itself. She hated spiders.  
They continued on, passing through empty, half-crumbled chambers of drafty stone that set the hairs on the back of Ilaan’s neck to standing up. She could feel the open air around her, churning and cold, and suddenly their Dalish hunter’s armor felt like simple cloth upon her back. Her ears pricked up as another large, low-ceilinged chamber led to a short hall, ending in a solid oaken door with iron bands across them, fortifying it. Her stomach churned as they crept closer to it, pulling back on her bowstring as Tamlen opened it.  
“Fenedhis! What are they?” Tamlen cried, back away and pointing his bow at the monstrous, wolf-like demon before him. It appeared to be a wolf, but was larger than any of the ones Ilaan had seen in all of her nineteen years, and spikes like the ones on a dragon’s back protruded from its red-tinged body. Its eyes were a feral, slightly glowing green.  
Beside it, holding a massive battle-axe, was one of the most fearsome creatures Ilaan had ever seen. It appeared to resemble a human, but had no hair and looked to have had all of its flesh burned off and decaying upon its body. Its eyes were a milky white, but she felt its gaze upon them.  
The monstrous wolf lunged at them; both elves struck arrows into its hide, which appeared to have done little damage. The animal did not even seem to have felt them as it snarled and lunged at Ilaan’s arm. Tamlen unsheathed a dagger from his hip and slashed at the beast’s throat while Ilaan knocked arrows into the horrible, dead-looking creature which uttered a low, gravelly laugh that gave her gooseflesh.  
She evaded the massive axe with relative ease, taking advantage of the creature’s heavy but slower swings to evade the crushing blows and instead plant more arrows into its flesh. With a final wet, squelchy sound the creature fell, one of her arrows protruding from its throat.  
Together, her and Tamlen finally felled the wolf and stared in shock at the bodies. Tamlen nudged the burned body with the toe of his boot, nose scrunched up and dagger at the ready.  
“What do you think these monsters are?”  
Ilaan shook her head, bow still held firmly in one hand. “I don’t know lethallin, but we shouldn’t be here. Whatever these are, they are evil. The Fade bleeds into this place, it is infected. Let’s return to camp.”  
But Tamlen stood firm. His eager eyes were fixed upon a massive mirror standing upright upon a dais in the middle of the room. Instead of the normal reflective glass showing their reflections, it swirled with a milky fog. Ilaan had a bitter taste in her mouth.  
But Tamlen laughed. “What, are you Merrill now? Are you going to tell me how young and irresponsible I am and run off to the Keeper? Come on Ilaan, it is a mirror not a demon. If we leave now, we will always wonder.”  
“Tamlen, please. This does not seem right.” She pulled at his arm, but he simply brushed her off and stepped closer to the mirror, a hungry gleam in his eyes she had not seen before. He grinned.  
“Can’t you see it, lethallan? There is a golden city there, and our people. They are so beautiful, just like Paivel told us they were. And there is something else, something further…” he trailed off and ascended the shallow steps to the dias until he stood level with mirror. Ilaan hesitated, but her concern for Tamlen was more powerful than her trepidation of the mirror. She stood beside him, the swirling surface of the mirror seeming to push against her skin.  
“There’s a great blackness here too, I…I can’t look away,” Tamlen jerked his head in an attempt to turn away from the mirror, but whatever power writhed within held him fast. Ilaan saw only the swirling fog, but she felt a massive, horrible, emptiness inside, the strange and evil force pulling Tamlen toward it. “I can’t look away, it saw me! It sees me, help lethallan, help me!”  
She pulled at his arm, yanking with all her strength; she felt the horrible, drowning, cold emptiness again but pushed against it even as she pulled at her dearest friend, his shouts echoing in her ears. She would not give in to the mirror’s strange powers; she would be strong enough to pull Tamlen free, strong enough for both of them.  
Tamlen shouted, almost screaming, as his hand reached out toward the mirror. Ilaan felt her throat tighten and her voice cry out in desperation. His hand touched the mirror’s surface.  
There were whispers, millions of them, swarming around her mind, clouding her thoughts. Screams of agony rang out through the chaos, and all she saw was darkness, as though she were swimming in the river at night, all the way at the bottom, being crushed by its depth and its unearthly sounds.  
There was a brief, terrible moment of clarity where she felt it, invading her veins, burning them as though she had swallowed molten metal. But this time she could not fight it; the mirror had stolen her strength as it had stolen Tamlen’s mind, leaving only a hollow and leaden lethargy in her limbs. She tasted blood.  
Then there was only darkness. 

She could not remember ever feeling to tired, or so cold. She forced open her eyes and saw the forest floor; her mouth tasted like dirt and blood. Her mind felt thick and slow, and she struggled to turn her head to meet the dark almond eyes staring down at her concernedly.  
“Can you hear me?” She opened her mouth to reply, but the words turned to ashes and her vision darkened. “I am…very sorry.” She did not understand why the voice sounded so sad, or why she was lying on the forest floor. Before she could force herself to remember, a wave of clamminess washed over her and her eyes slid shut once more, the stranger no more than a dream she would not recall.


	2. Duty and Destiny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ilaan must face the consequences of her and Tamlen’s curiosity, and takes the first steps toward her duty and her destiny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has read this far, I hope you like this next chapter! It will be a little longer than the last one. Enjoy!

She was first aware of the bleating halla. The soft sounds of voices drifted in through the thick flaps of her tent, warm and dark within her aravel. Her head pounded, and her entire body felt heavy and sore. She smelled the remains of a roaring campfire and small wisps of morning breeze and wondered why she had been permitted to sleep so late.

She forced open her eyes, which were reluctant to focus on her surroundings. After a moment, still blinking the sleep from them, she realized this was not her aravel, but the Keeper’s. She frowned, casting her foggy mind back to the reason she had woken in Keeper Marethari’s tent, but it would not yield any memories, only a slow and fuzzy series of scraps.  
Her limbs dragged even as she stretched them and exited the tent; she wanted only to curl up and return to her heavy sleep, but ignored her body’s wishes and stepped into the grey light outside, shielding her eyes from the dull sunlight.

“Ilaan! Thank the Gods you are awake, lethallan.” She turned to see her friend, Fenarel, standing guard beside outside the Keeper’s aravel, fiddling with one of his daggers. She smiled and quickly snatched her hand back from where it had been rubbing at her groggy head, temples aching dully. Upon seeing her companion, her mind shifted to thoughts of Tamlen, and it all came back in a rush.

“Fenarel, how did I get here? Where is Tamlen? What happened to the mirror?”

Her friend’s face fell, and for a moment he looked almost as world-weary as Hahren Paivel. Though her memory was impaired, she could see clearly on her friend’s face that whatever had transpired weighed heavily upon the clan. Her stomach tightened.

“You…don’t remember? A Grey Warden came to camp two days ago, with you slung over his shoulder. He found you in the forest outside a cave, unconscious and alone. You were delirious with fever, too. The Keeper had to use the Old Magic to heal you, but I think even she worried you wouldn’t make it.”

Ilaan felt as though lightning had traveled through her body. She looked around the camp, seeing the familiar faces cast her glances from beneath lowered eyelashes or in-between their usual duties. “I was…sick? Why was a Grey Warden here?” She shook her head before Fenarel could answer, rubbing her arms, feeling suddenly cold. 

“I must speak with the Keeper. Do you know where she is?”

Fenarel nodded. “And she wants to speak with you. Stay here, I’ll go fetch her.”

Ilaan waited only a moment, rubbing at her aching temples, before she saw the familiar silver-haired figure approach, a crease between her brows and her deep blue eyes clouded with concern.

“You are finally awake, da’len. I am glad. I know not what dark power held you, but it nearly bled the life from you. Even the Old Magic was nearly insufficient. How do you feel?”

Ilaan hesitated, fighting the urge to close her eyes or allow her shoulders to drop. “I am fine, Keeper, thanks to you. But where is Tamlen? Has no one found him?”

Both Fenarel and Keeper Marethari shared a glance before Fenarel nodded and walked away toward his own aravel, while the Keeper drew closer to Ilaan.

“I was hoping that was something you could answer.” She sighed. “The Grey Warden found only you, no signs of any other, and Tamlen has not returned. What happened, da’len? The Warden said only that he found you outside of a cave in the forest.”

Ilaan bit her lip. “Shemlen wandered too close to our camp when Tamlen and I were hunting. They said they found a cave with elven artifacts inside, and we…I did not want to go, but I would not abandon Tamlen either. We should have turned back. There were creatures in the cave, and a mirror, and Tamlen could not look away, and then…” she trailed off. Her eyes stung and she blinked furiously to keep the tears at bay.

“What do you mean, da’len? What creatures, what mirror?”

“Giant spiders, and a huge wolf with spines protruding from its body, and a dead man with his flesh removed. At least, I think it was a man, or used to be.” She shuddered. “I am so sorry, Keeper. I couldn’t pull Tamlen away. I tried, but something in the mirror held him. This is my fault, I should have forced him back.”

The Keeper placed a hand gently but firmly upon Ilaan’s shoulder.

“This is not your doing, da’len. I admit that even I would have been curious about such a place.” The Keeper considered the young woman a moment. 

“I would not ask this of you if we were not desperate, but we must find Tamlen swiftly. If he is as sick as you were, his life in at peril. Do you feel well enough to return to the cave?”

Ilaan nodded. “Yes. We must find Tamlen.”

“Thank you, da’len. Take Merrill with you, her knowledge and magic will be helpful.”

“But what if she contracts this sickness?”

The Keeper shook her head. “If this sickness is from what I believe it to be, she will not. But still, do not touch anything there, do you understand me da’len?”

Ilaan nodded. “Yes, Keeper.”

“Good. Now make haste, Tamlen’s life is at stake, and he must be found before we can move on.”  
Ilaan blinked. “You are moving the clan?”

“Yes. Your encounter with the humans has not been the first since we settled here, and they are growing impatient with our presence. It is safer for us all if we move north. No go, da’len, there is much to prepare.”

The young elf nodded and left the Keeper in search of her apprentice, Merrill. She wandered through the familiar camp, smelling of roasting meat and wood and halla, and she smiled at the flock of elven children running past her, hollering and laughing. As she passed the campfire where the children had settled, she was hailed by Hahren Paivel.

His age-weary face was more drawn than usual, and his clear eyes were clouded.

“Da’len, it is good to see you are well, we were so worried for you. The Grey Warden who brought you to us left shortly after, and I am fear Tamlen is not so fortunate.”

Ilaan’s stomach clenched. “As am I, Hahren. I am sorry to have worried you all.”

“And so you should be, da’len. I understand the restlessness of youth, but you do not belong only to yourself. Or have you young ones forgotten?”  
Ilaan rubbed at the scar along her throat. “No, Hahren, I have not. Ir abelas.”

The elder sighed. “You are forgiven, of course. But you should see Ashalle, she is beside herself with worry. She has been praying to the gods for the past two days, denying herself rest.”

“I will see her straight away, Hahren. Thank you.”  
The elder smiled at her and nodded, his clear cobalt eyes shining.

Ilaan hesitated a moment, leaning on the balls of her feet, considering the storyteller a moment. 

“Hahren? Do you know anything about the Grey Wardens?”

The storyteller rubbed at his cheek thoughtfully. 

“They were an honorable order comprised of the greatest warriors known to these lands, sworn protectors and the only ones capable of killing an Archdemon. Some of our own clan members had joined the Wardens, long ago. It is the utmost honor, but also the greatest sacrifice.”

“Sacrifice?”

The elder nodded. “Yes, but that is a tale for another day. You have had enough grief for now. Go and seek Ashalle, da’len.”

Ilaan bit her lip but nodded, and crossed the camp to the eastern edge, where she knew she could find her surrogate mother. She passed the halla pen, where the graceful, snowy beasts roamed, their horns twisting elegantly and intelligent molten eyes staring at her as she passed. They bleated softly, and Ilaan smiled at them and whispered her greetings. Their sensitive ears perked at the sound.

She found Ashalle beside her campfire in the valley, just has she had anticipated. The woman turned when she saw her approach and a smile graced her fine features.

“Da’len, thank the gods you are recovered. You and Tamlen should not have gone into that cave, but your bravery is commendable. Your parents would be proud of the woman you have become.” Ilaan allowed her to briefly stroke her cheek.

“Ma serannas, Ashalle. I do not think you have ever spoken of my parents before.”

The older woman smiled sadly. “It was a tragedy, and the clan agreed to not darken your heart with the sorrow. But…you have grown, and perhaps it is time.”

Ilaan nodded. “Please, Ashalle.”

The woman sighed. “Very well, I suppose you will always wonder. Your father was the Keeper of our clan before Keeper Marethari, and he fell in love with one of the most skilled huntresses from another clan. But this was not looked upon favorably, and one day the two were ambushed by a group of humans from a nearby city.  
“Your father was killed, and your mother, who was with child, was gravely wounded. She lived long enough to give birth to you, but perished shortly after.”

Ilaan rubbed absentmindedly at the scar on her throat. “They were killed by shemlen? Why?”

Ashalle shook her head. “I do not know, but it is the reason our clan has gone further into hiding. We used to trade with many humans from nearby cities, but after the attack, everything changed.”

“Thank you for telling me this, Ashalle.”

The elder woman smiled. “It is your right to know. Your mother left you something, da’len. It was your father’s before he granted it to her as a wedding gift.” She turned away a moment and receded into her aravel, and when she came back she was carrying an elegant longbow in both hands, engraved with beautiful symbols. Ashalle held it gently, almost lovingly.

“This was your mother’s bow, enchanted by your father. He knew much of the Old Ways, or as much as our people have been able to salvage. It is yours now.”

Ilaan held the bow in her hands, the wood sturdy and supple, unyielding as she pulled back on the string. It felt as though it were alive and humming beneath her fingers, thrumming for a target. She grinned.

“Ma serannas, Ashalle. A million times over.”

The elder smiled. “Of course, da’len. Use it to honor them.”

With that, Ilaan parted from her surrogate mother, the bow a solid and comforting reminder on her back as she searched for Merrill.

She found her outside of the halla pens, fiddling with something on her staff. The apprentice mage glanced up and smiled.

“You’re awake, lethallan. I’m so relieved. The Keeper said you may not recover, and with Tamlen missing…” she trailed off, dark eyes fixed on her staff but not really seeing it.

“I am fine, but Tamlen may not be. The Keeper asked you to accompany me to the cave to look for Tamlen.”

Merrill nodded and swung her staff upon her back.

“Of course I will. We should leave right away.”

“You’re not worried about getting sick?”

Merrill waved a hand dismissively. “Not so long as we’re careful. Besides, the Keeper can heal the sickness, so even if I were to catch it, I have faith she could heal it like she did for you.”

On their way out of camp, Fenarel tracked them down.

“You’re going to the cave to search for Tamlen, right? I want to go with you.”

Merrill objected. “It’s too dangerous lethallin.”

Fenarel frowned. “Tamlen is my friend too. It’s always been the four of us, we survived the raid, and we will survive this, too. Let me come, I can help.”

Merrill crossed her arms. “Fine, but we need to tell the Keeper before we leave. I will not do this without her permission.”

The Keeper sighed. “I do not wish to lose any more of my children, especially you three, but I suppose I cannot deny you this. Very well. And be careful, all of you.”

The three elves knelt beside a recently banked campfire, examining the ashes.

“The Grey Warden said he was investigating something in the area, perhaps this is his campfire.” Merrill’s falsely hopeful tone betrayed their uncertainty. The three rose to continue when the mage stopped them with a gesture. “Wait. Do you hear that?”

Ilaan perked her ears; there was a faint rustling, the soft and subtle imprint of boots upon the forest floor. All three readied their weapons.  
The arrows missed them by mere inches. Merrill let out a shout of alarm and the three ran ahead to see two creatures armed with bows standing on the other side of the rushing stream. 

They looked somewhat similar to the creature Ilaan had seen in the cave with Tamlen, but they were smaller and made different sounds. She felt a great hunger emanating from them in waves, and filled them with her arrows until they fell.  
Merrill gasped, placing her staff upon her back once again. 

“What were those…creatures? Were they darkspawn?”

Ilaan shook her head. “You’re asking me? I have no idea.”

“Ilaan, are you alright? You look pale.” Merrill reached out to place a hand upon her friend’s forehead, but she swatted it away.

“I’m fine, it’s just the exertion is all. We need to keep moving.”

Merrill frowned at Ilaan, dark eyes searching her face. “Well I’ll keep an eye on you anyway.”

Fenarel shook his head like a dog trying to clear his ears of water. “Now that Merrill’s mentioned it, you do look pale. But you’re right. I don’t like this, but the sooner we get in and find Tamlen, the sooner we leave.”

The cave was filled with more darkspawn than Ilaan remembered, but with Merrill’s magic they were able to navigate them without getting injured. When they reached the door to the room that held the mirror, Ilaan paused, hands clammy.

“Wait. This is where the mirror is, the one that caused all of this. Whatever you do, don’t look into it, and don’t touch it.”

Merrill nodded. “It will be fine, Ilaan. I’ll be able to sense if there’s any danger from the mirror.”

Ilaan bit her lip. “Still, stay behind me.” She opened the door.

Duncan stood in front of the mirror, several darkspawn bodies lying at his feet. He turned when he heard them approach, a vein of surprise touching his noble features.

“Ah, I thought I heard combat. You are the elf I found in the forest. I am surprised you recovered.”

Ilaan tilted her head slightly. “Then you are Duncan, of the Grey Wardens?”

He nodded. “Indeed I am. But you should not be here, this place is stricken by the Blight, it is not safe.”

“We are searching for our brother, Tamlen.” A crease formed between Duncan’s brows. He sighed.

“And you think he is here? Why?”

Ilaan suppressed a shudder. “He was with me when we discovered this cave. He touched the mirror, and then…”

Duncan understood. “I see. Then I am sorry to tell you this, but there will be no hope of recovering Tamlen. He is gone.”

Ilaan felt as though she would be sick. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words turned to ashes in them.

Merrill stepped forward, her usual look of authoritative determination stark on her features. “I am Merrill, First to Keeper Marethari. What do you mean, he is gone? This mirror does not have the energy of a portal, nor of a curse.”

Duncan glanced at the mirror, a fleeting look of distaste upon his face. “It is an ancient artifact of Tevinter, corrupted by the darkspawn taint, the very same taint that ails you, my friend.”

Ilaan shook her head. “I am not ill, the Keeper healed this sickness.”

Duncan’s crease between his brows deepened, expression growing graver. “I am afraid she has not. Her magic was enough to slow the taint, but it flows in your veins, I can sense it even now. You are sick, whether you feel it or not. Eventually, without the cure, it will kill you.”

“But…what is the cure, then? If Tamlen is sick as I am, we must find him and give it to him. He may be in the mirror, or somewhere we have not looked.” Ashalle had always told her that her endless hope was her curse, and she had never felt that was true until now, even as her mind rebelled against the idea her heart still whispered that they must keep searching.

But Duncan had no such curse. “Let me make this very plain: your friend is dead, or as good as dead. If he touched this mirror, there is no retrieving him. The mirror must be destroyed.” He sighed. “I am sorry.” She heard the sincerity in his words, but it only made her heart ache more. Tamlen could not be gone, he had been just beside her, telling her everything would be fine.

The shattering of glass tore her from her thoughts and she looked up to see the Grey Warden standing beside the broken mirror, longsword in one hand. Fenarel stared open-mouthed at the shards, and Merrill stood silently beside him. Duncan turned back to them.

“Would you be so kind as to accompany me back to your camp? I must have words with your Keeper about your cure.”

“Why can you not administer it now? What is the cure?”

“I cannot tell you, not yet. It is something I must arrange with your Keeper.”

Merrill responded before Ilaan could question further. “Of course, Duncan of the Grey Wardens.” Ilaan stood rooted to the spot; Merrill tugged gently at her arm. “Come, Ilaan. You heard him, there is nothing more we can do.”

“I will not abandon him. Go without me if you must, but I will not abandon Tamlen to my mistake.”

To her surprise, Duncan stepped forward and placed a hand upon her shoulder, and she noticed for the first time just how tall they Grey Warden really was, or perhaps how small she was. His eyes shone in the semi-darkness.

“This is not your fault. Your friend touched the mirror; his actions were his own. All the rest is an…unfortunate circumstance, but certainly not the fault of anyone here. That you were able to resist the illness of your own willpower is extraordinary.”

Ilaan nodded and averted her eyes, feeling small and awkward beneath his gaze.

“Thank you, Duncan of the Grey Wardens.” 

The four of them left the cave, Ilaan casting glances over her shoulder at every shadow or sliver of light, searching in vain for any sign of Tamlen.  
҉҉҉ ҉ ҉

“You have returned unharmed. I am relieved. But where is Tamlen?”

Ilaan, Fenarel, and Merrill looked among themselves for the silent answer of who should tell the Keeper the news of Tamlen’s permanent disappearance, but it was Duncan who intervened.

“I can answer that, Keeper. I am afraid Tamlen cannot be recovered. The mirror he touched had been infected with the darkspawn taint, the very one that ails Ilaan. He is as good as dead, if not already so. I destroyed the mirror. I am truly sorry, Keeper.”

Keeper Marethari took in the Warden’s words, sorrow deepening the lines upon her graceful features. She swallowed. “I see. Thank you for delivering this message to me, Duncan, and for saving the life of one of my children. You are a man of honor. If there is anything the clan can do for you, please let me know.”

“Actually, I believe there may be. May I have a word?”

The Keeper nodded and turned to Ilaan, her eyes darker than she remembered them. “Da’len, go and tell Hahren Paivel to prepare a funeral for our departed while I have words with Duncan.”

Ilaan nodded and watched the two disappear into the Keeper’s aravel, the very one she had awoken in not a few hours ago. Her stomach churned inside her, and her temples still ached. She did not feel sick, but she did not feel normal, either. As much as she wished to ignore it, she could feel the taint spreading like a stain inside her, opening like a rotten fruit and poisoning her blood. 

She rubbed her arms against the chill and went to speak with Hahren Paivel, standing beside his campfire where Fenarel and a few children sat, warming their hands or haunches of venison.

“Ah da’len, you return. I am glad. But you look unwell, child. What is troubling you?”

A lump had settled in Ilaan’s throat. “Keeper Marethari wishes for you to prepare a funeral for Tamlen.”

The elder man sighed. “It seems the gods punish me by having me bury the very babes I held as they entered this world. There is no body to send back to the earth, but we will honor Tamlen in spirit. May he hunt and walk forever in the embrace of Falon’Din, where his spirit is released from his suffering and roams as freely as it had in life.” He turned to Ilaan. “Tell the Keeper I will begin preparations. The funeral will be held this very night.”

Ilaan nodded and seated herself upon the wooden log beside Fenarel, who was whittling a stick with a small hunting knife. He smiled at his friend before turning his attention back to his work. The two sat in silence for a moment before Fenarel spoke.

“Do you remember the time Tamlen tried to get out of chores by spotting his face with berry juice and pretending to be ill?” His grey eyes were mirthful. Ilaan laughed.

“Yes, and the halla nearly ate his face licking it all off and he was forced to clean out their pens for the rest of the week.”

The two laughed at the memory of Tamlen with his face smeared in berry juice, halla licking furiously at him as he struggled under its determined tongue. They spoke more of times from their childhood, happy times unmarred by darkspawn or illness or missing friends.

“Da’len.” Keeper Marethari and Duncan, standing on the far side of the fire, cut them short. Fenarel brushed a comforting hand over Ilaan’s before she stood and joined them, the Keeper with a deeper furrow to her brows and Duncan with a somber air about him.

“Your Keeper and I have spoken, and we have come to an arrangement that concerns you.” Duncan informed the young woman, who glanced from the Warden to the Keeper, trying to glean some scant information about their decision as if it were written on their faces. “My order is in need of help, you are in need of a cure. When I leave, I hope you will join me. You would make an excellent Grey Warden.”

Ilaan paled. “I am honored, but I do not understand. What does this have to do with my cure?”

“The darkspawn taint courses through you, and will eventually kill you, or worse. The Grey Wardens can prevent that, but it means joining us.”

She bit her lip. “Would I be able to return to my clan?”

Keeper Marethari responded. “We do not know. But we could not watch you suffer a slow death. The Grey Warden offers you a way to survive.”

“This is not simply charity on my part. I would not offer this if I did not think you had the makings of a Grey Warden. Let me be clear: you will likely never return here. We go to fight the darkspawn, a battle that will take us far from your clan. But we need you.”

Ilaan turned to the Keeper. “Why should we trust the words of a shemlen, Keeper? Why should these darkspawn concern us? I am being cast out to fight a war that has nothing to do with our people.” Her voice quieted as the lump in her throat hardened. “Please…do not send me away.”

The Keeper placed a gentle hand beneath Ilaan’s chin, guiding her to look the elder woman in the eyes. “A great army of darkspawn gathers in the south. A new Blight threatens the land. We cannot outrun this storm, da’len.  
“Long ago, the Dalish signed a treaty to help the Grey Wardens in times of a Blight, and we must honor that agreement.” She sighed. “It breaks my heart to send you away. As it would to watch you die slowly from this sickness. This is your duty, and your destiny. Go and meet it with your head held high.”

Ilaan swallowed hard. “Very well. If this is my duty, then I will go.”

Duncan bowed. “Then I welcome you to the order. It is rare that we have a Dalish amongst us, but they have always served with distinction.”

Keeper Marethari reached forward and took Ilaan’s hand and pressed something small and cold into her palm. “I know you will do your clan proud, da’len. Take this ring, it is your heritage. And remember: no matter how far you travel, you will always be Dalish.”

Duncan nodded in approval. “A valuable gift. Now then, are you ready to depart?”

Ilaan looked behind her, to Hahren Paivel and her fellow hunters lighting the pyre for the night’s event. “I would like to stay for Tamlen’s funeral.”

Duncan followed her gaze, and for a moment, a shadow of sorrow flitted past his calm demeanor. 

“We have much ground to cover, but I cannot deny you this. Say your farewells, then we must be off.”

Keeper Marethari stepped forward. “Come then, da’len. Let your clan embrace you one last time.”  
҉ ҉ ҉

She saw them all lined on either side of her, the familiar faces she had known all her life. The faces of the gentle hands that taught her to pull a bowstring, that had cleaned the blood from her wounds and held her fast when her heart was heavy. 

The faces that had carefully carved the vallaslin of Mythal onto her face when she came of age, who had chided her when she disobeyed and who smiled at her triumphs.

She admired Duncan’s honor and respect of her people, and knew that she owed him her life, but in that moment, she despised him. She hated him, the mirror, the shemlen who told her and Tamlen about this all to begin with.

And suddenly she could not keep the tears at bay behind her eyes, where they belonged. They spilled over and she tasted the salt upon her lips, brushed hands with the people she loved and who loved her. She saw the sadness in their eyes, the downward turn of their lips, and her heart felt too heavy for her to carry; it ached inside her, a deep and physical pain.

She had said her goodbyes to Ashalle earlier that day, but could not refrain from giving her surrogate mother a final embrace, breathing deeply of the smell of peppermint and wild forest, the silver vallaslin of Sylaise upon her aged but elegant features. She bit her tongue to keep from weeping; she did not want Ashalle to be filled with more sorrow than she already was.

When she reached Merrill at the end, she saw that streaks of tears marred her own pretty face, obscuring the vallaslin tattooed there. She threw her arms around the Keeper’s First and her friend, despite their differences and arguments, and squeezed her eyes shut in a futile attempt to stop the tears.

She embraced Fenarel as well, and finally turned to Keeper Marethari. The elder grasped Ilaan’s hands in her own and smiled, clear sapphire eyes bright, though she saw the sorrow written in their depths like rain. 

Suddenly she could not bear their faces, their sadness; she was ashamed of her tears. She offered a watery smile to her Keeper before turning away, ignoring the searching gaze of Duncan waiting patiently for her just ahead of the clan. He stood with his hands clasped together before him, seeming uneasy at bearing witness to such a reluctant parting.

Once she got close enough, Duncan nodded his farewell to clan Sabrae and turned ahead to the open woods and hills. Ilaan swiped the tears angrily from her face before the Grey Warden could comment on them and with a final glance at the only family she had ever known, turned and faced her duty and destiny, heart still firmly rooted to the Dalish.


End file.
